


NOW HERE

by iphianassa



Category: Fire and Hemlock - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphianassa/pseuds/iphianassa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom waits for Polly, so they can go nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NOW HERE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LillyRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyRose/gifts).



I. Presto

“She’s not a toy, you know” Polly’s Granny’s gruff voice startled Tom out of his reverie. It was pouring all around them. He could only hear the steady thump thumping of the rain hitting Granny’s giant umbrella as he stared at her, not wanting to understand what she was telling him. 

“I,” his voice petered out as Granny scowled at him. 

“I don’t think she’s a toy,” he responded, quietly but seriously.

“Anyone with eyes can see she’s head over heels for you,” Granny continued. Tom was silent. In the distance he could hear the others cheering for the racers. _For the children_ , he reminded himself.. He met Granny’s eye.

“It may be time one day, Tom,” she said, not unkindly. “But not yet. The girl’s only twelve. Let her be. She’s a child, she deserves some time to act like one”.

Tom could only nod in agreement. He watched Polly run in the rain, watched as her lovely hair worked its way out of her ponytail and plastered itself to her forehead. He watched the determination in her face as she ran. She wanted to win.

“Where’s Tom?” Polly demanded when she came back, dripping, to see Granny.

“He had to go,” Granny said firmly. “He had adult things to do.”

Polly pulled a face. “He’s not an _adult_ ,” she said grumpily. “He’s my friend.”

 --- 

Tom left Sports Day feeling like a fool. Granny had been right – what was he doing with Polly? She was like a ray of light, a breath of fresh air. _“No, nothing so cliché”_ he mumbled to himself.

Later that evening he called Mary Fields on the telephone. She answered gruffly, but it did not dissuade him. 

“Mary,” his voice cracking slightly, “what am I doing? Am I a fool?”

There was silence on the other end, a rather telling silence, Tom thought. Then a long sigh. “Polly?” the single word emanated from the telephone and hung in the air before Tom could decide if he had made a mistake in calling.

“Yes,” he responded, wavering a bit.

“I thought it might be”. He could hear the hurt in Mary’s voice.

“Mary, I-“

She sighed again, a long one this time and sounded as though she was choosing her words carefully. Her tone, when she spoke again, was curt but honest. “You are a fool, Tom. But you’re not wrong. She’s clearly…“ Mary paused again. “She cares for you, perhaps too much. You are so much older, Tom. She is just a child still. Mind your time.”

“Thank you,” Tom whispered.

Mary’s hand shook as she hung up the receiver. He _is_ a damn fool,” she whispered bitterly. With a shaking hand she poured herself a drink.

II. Lento

Seeing Polly at the picnic, Tom’s heart began to race. “What am I doing?” he asked himself “I am sixteen years older!” but somehow this reminder failed to dissuade him. He felt much older than thirty; after nearly a lifetime of dealing with Laurel he felt drained. Old in mind but young at heart. A very heavy heart, he reminded himself, risking a glance at Polly. Her silver hair glistened in the light as she threw her head back to laugh. He should probably take her champagne glass away…

They were marching onwards, Tom was happy to be able to touch her, to talk to her. Suddenly Mary’s voice broke his reverie.

“You look like father and daughter!” Mary laughed, sending Tom a significant glance. His arm slipped off Polly’s shoulders immediately. Right. Too friendly. Thank goodness he had recruited Mary to keep him from making a fool of himself. But he saw Polly’s face fall and he was crushed.

That night, passing by the station, marching to his death, Tom felt numb. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to think. He quieted his mind which was screaming for Polly. What would happen to her? Would she really marry Seb? Would Laurel leave her alone now that she thought Polly had forgotten everything, or would Seb’s bringing Polly into the fold open her back up to retaliation? He looked around at the rest of the Quartet following him. _”I may not have Polly,”_ he thought, _”but I do know her. She can win this. If anyone can give Laurel a run for her money, it’s Polly.”_

When he looked at her his heart ached. He tried to ignore the part of him screaming, “Yes! Yes!” and tried to be happy to see her one last time. He kept his face stony, his expression confused. It took all of his will to pretend not to know her, and he almost crumpled when she grabbed his arm and told him “I’m not letting go.”

III. Largo

That Halloween, the one he had waited for, had dreaded, had tried to fight off with every part of his being. The one where Polly marched from the shadows to save him, Thomas could hardly believe she was right in front of him. He had a future, _they_ had a future. Standing there, in front of the car, in front of the quartet, in front of Leslie, Tom kissed Polly for the first time. It was a slow, meaningful kind of kiss. One that said they had all the time in the world.

"Polly?” he asked. 

“Tom?” she responded. 

“What now?” 

“Now we’re here,” she beamed. 

He kissed her again. He just couldn't help himself. 

IV. Adagio

They never mentioned the date on October 31st after that. Tom would get very quiet, and Polly would carry a fierceness around her somehow. They had been married in midsummer, the year after Polly had saved Tom. They used some money Tom had saved to build a small house in the Scottish moors. They named it “Nowhere,” and visited every Halloween, just to be safe. Despite these precautions, on October 31st they would both get tense. Polly would reach for Tom those mornings and embrace him so tightly it seemed as though she would never let go. Tom would mope and look at his cello, not quite daring to touch it. Polly and Tom both breathed a little easier on November 1st, knowing they had another year before they had to think of Hunsdon House again. It was like Tom breathed to Polly sometimes, in the middle of the night.

"Nowhere is still somewhere, as long as I'm with you."


End file.
